


Four Times Tim Slept Through a Bedtime Speech and the One Time He Heard It

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 16:11:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3856894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Times Tim Slept Through a Bedtime Speech and the One Time He Heard It

                The door opened to Tim’s room, a small beam of light glimpsing through the crack. The toddler twitched slightly from the change in lighting, cuddling his stuffed animal elephant closer, but otherwise he didn’t stir. Jack Drake closed the door behind him, trying his best to not make too much noise, and walked over to his son’s bedside.

                “Hey Tim,” Jack said, rubbing his son’s hair. “Its your old man. Miss me?”

                Tim didn’t respond, just snuggling closer to his elephant.  Jack reminded himself that he really needed to purchase a camera one of these days. Maybe the babysitters could take some photos while they were away. These years were important after all.

                “I’m sorry your Mom and I missed your birthday,” Jack said, leaning against the wall. “Our flight was delayed and you know how these things are…” He cut off, listening to Tim snore. The kid took after his Father alright. “I hope you liked your present.” Jack pointed at the elephant. “Your Mom thought it was a little simple, but you seem to love the circus so much that, well, I thought it was nice.” He bent down. “Look when me and your Mom are back in town for enough time, we’ll take you to the circus or something to make it up to you, okay?”

                Tim twitched in his bed, a small smile forming on his lips. Jack could remember when he was small enough to fit hold in his arms with no effort. When had he gotten so big? And when had Jack started missing it?

                Jack leaned up, turning on the mobile that still hung over Tim’s bed. It was of the stars, and they lit up, creating constellations on the bedroom walls. Jack was sure it would make him a genius one day. He ruffled Tim’s hair one more time, before walking towards the door. He opened it slowly, and smiled back at his sleeping son.

                “Happy 4th birthday, Tim.”

 

                “Well, that was a little too close for comfort if I must say, Master Timothy.”

                Tim was passed out, understandable after fighting off the Clench for so long. His breathing was a little ragged, and Alfred had managed to clear most of the blood from his face, but he was still hooked up to all the machines that the Batcave had to offer.  Alfred sat next to him, cleaning the various rags he had used the evening.

                “Will he be alright?” Bruce asked, stepping out of the shadows and looking down at his protégée. Alfred nodded, squeezing one of the towels.

                “He has improved greatly. I’m sure he will be awake, alert and back to himself within a day or two.”

                Bruce grunted, his version of approval and stepped closer to Tim’s bed. He glanced to the side and quickly pulled up the sheets, covering part of the boy’s shivering frame. He then stepped back, shrugged on the cowl and walked out of the main section of the cave. Alfred watched him as he went, a fond expression on his face, before turning back to Tim.

                “Master Bruce is fond of you Master Timothy,” Alfred said, wringing out one of the towels. “He may not say it, but he cares for you as much as Master Dick.” Alfred smiled, picking up another rag. “You are doing a fine job as Robin.”

                Alfred tossed the last rag into the bucket and carried it over to the storage area. He paused in front of Jason’s memorial, taking in the red, green and yellow. He sighed, looked back to Tim, and then back to the case.

                “I think Master Jason would be quite proud.” He left. And while he was almost positive he was imagining it, he thought he heard Tim’s breathing ease.

                Cassandra may have been better at Tim in most areas of crime fighting, but she had to hand it to him; she had never seen anyone fall asleep so easily. At least anyone in their line of work.

                Her brother was lying on a cot in the small place they had rented out in Bludhaven. They had just finished patrol for the night, putting away a variety of criminals that stalked the streets. However, the effort of patrolling so much as of late had worn out Robin, and Tim had passed out almost as soon as they had gotten home. Cassandra sat next to him, filling out a report to Bruce, tapping her foot to a melody she couldn’t place.

                “Dad,” Tim whispered and Cassandra diverted her attention back to Tim. He was scrunched up, clearly in pain, tears leaking from his eyes. He shifted on the cot, almost like he was flinching from a punch. Cassandra frowned, placing her laptop on a nearby desk, and sat down on the floor. She grabbed Tim’s hand in hers, waited a few seconds to see if he would wake, and when he didn’t she began to speak.

                “Not your fault.” She paused, biting her lip. “Hurts, but not your fault. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.” Then as an afterthought. “I miss her too.”

                Tim didn’t stop looking distressed, but he did stop twitching. Cassandra reached for her laptop, typing with one hand while she held Tim’s in her other.

                “Sleep well, Robin.”

                Dick looked down at Tim, at the new lines of bandages covering his torso, at the bruises, at the scar that spoke of a missing spleen, and began to realize how close he had come to losing his little brother.

                Tim was knocked out, thanks to Alfred drug cocktail, and sleeping peacefully. They had taken off his uniform in a rush, desperate to fix the parts of Tim that were bleeding, and it laid on a table across from the teenage boy. Dick could make out the jagged cuts from here, the signs that Tim may have lived through his war on Ra’s but it was only barely.

                “Hey Timbo,” Dick said, sitting next to his brother. He took off the Batman cowl, throwing on the table with Tim’s Red Robin costume.  The mental image of Bruce’s objections to Dick’s treatment of the costume brought a smile to his face. He leaned forward, his hands on his knees, and checked to make sure the cave was clear of anyone else. “I’ve missed you.”

                There was a long pause and Dick took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry, about how things turned out. I don’t regret my choice to make Damian Robin, but I could have handled it better. I-“ He shook his head. “I’m just glad you’re okay, alright?”

                He got up, walking closer to Tim’s bed and laid a kiss to his forehead. “Sleep well baby bird. You deserve it.”

               

+1

                Tim was shot in the chest on Wayne business on a Monday morning. It had been a presentation on cleaning up the city, and on the way there someone had pushed their way through the crowd and taken a shot at one of the cops who was guarding the young heir. Tim pushed him out of the way.

                He gained a bullet, severe internal bleeding and a deep coma for his trouble.

                Bruce didn’t say a word as he walked into his son’s hospital room. The rest of the family was crowded outside, a mismatch of costumed heroes from various areas worrying about the third Robin.  It had been three days and Tim had yet to wake up. If he was going to wake up that was.

                “Tim,” Bruce said with a brisk nod, before sitting down. His hair was a mess, his eyes lined from lack of sleep, his face covered in stubble. He glared at the hospital door, fully aware that Clark was lurking outside to make sure he was alright, and ran his hand through his hair. “You need to wake up. Dick is going to drive me mad by the end of the week if you don’t.”

                The beeping of Tim’s heart monitor remained steady. Bruce mashed his teeth together, resisting the urge to storm out. Despite Clark’s thoughts otherwise, his son wasn’t going to wake up just by having Bruce sit vigil and talk. But sadly Clark’s delusions would have to be met for now; Bruce didn’t have the energy to outwit the man of steel at the moment.

                “The officer you pushed away will be fine. He had a broken arm, but otherwise he’ll make a full recovery. He was working on busting some crooked cops in the force it seems, but you already knew that didn’t you?” He paused, almost if waiting for Tim to respond before continuing. “Damian is impressed by your take down method, though he refuses to admit it. I caught him practicing yesterday. He’s outside now, likely getting harassed by reporters.” Bruce glanced down at his phone and his eyebrows rose. “Apparently, he referred to you as his big brother. For the press or not, if you don’t remind him of that when you wake up, I will be sorely disappointed.”

                The silence lingered and Bruce leaned forward, his hands together. “You are going to wake up. This isn’t an option, Tim. The family needs you. I-“ He cut off, staring down at his hands. “need you.”

                Clark Kent would freely admit that he was a bit naïve. A speech would likely not wake Tim out of a three day coma. But the sound of Tim’s heart rate increasing to that of someone consciousness was enough for Clark to smile and call for a nurse.


End file.
